Rules of Engagement
by raileht
Summary: The one where Diane Lockhart rethinks her proposal and Kurt McVeigh turns out to be a thief.


**Rules of Engagement  
**by raile

**Summary: **The one where Diane Lockhart rethinks her proposal and Kurt McVeigh turns out to be a thief.**  
Disclaimer: **the ones you don't know are mine, the ones you do aren't.  
**Rating: **T, to be safe

* * *

The screen of her phone glowed dimly at four in the morning.

And it was that exact moment Diane Lockhart found herself picking up her discarded shoe on the floor next to the bed. She didn't put it on, not only because she was still missing the other pair, but also because she was holding her breath and trying not to make a single sound as if her very life depended on it. Stealthily, she glanced at the man sleeping on the bed as she moved around it, trying to figure out where exactly her other shoe had landed hours before when she had been, er, too busy to take note.

Blowing a lock of hair out of her eyes, she quietly leaned back against the wall, clutching the shoe to herself and closed her eyes, trying to remember where the rest of her clothing went. She had her phone, one red high heel accounted for, one of her thigh-high nylons, her skirt and blouse. She still had to locate her other shoe, her coat, purse and, well, her underthings.

Wracking her somewhat still addled brain, she opened her eyes once more and regretted closing them immediately. In the dark, her eyes needed to readjust again and heaven knew it was hard finding her things to begin with. She frowned, running a hand through her hair as she clutched her shoe, crushing the half of her nylons between her fingers and bit her bottom lip.

She tried to recall just when what had been removed where, deciding that it was most likely her coat and purse would be together. She had taken those off herself, after all, and she was sure she hadn't been quite as distracted. That left the other pair of her shoes and nylons, a brassier and her panties.

Well, didn't she just feel like a class act.

Mentally, she smacked herself only to have her brain smartly retort whether she should have just folded everything and put them away in the drawer before letting herself be thoroughly distracted. Wouldn't that have been _just_ attractive?

Diane frowned once more, shaking her head at herself and the absurd conversation her mind was having within itself. It was always fun when sarcastic Diane and logical Diane bumped into each other in her mind—and in the most perfect times too.

Ignoring the internal battle within her, she pushed off of the wall and decided her eyes were as adjusted as they were going to get at four in the morning. She tiptoed to the side she had just crawled out of from, making sure she hadn't just missed anything there only to confirm she really hadn't. Perfect.

She turned, careful not to make a sound and tried to make sure her companion was still asleep on the bed, sprawled out on his stomach and tangled in the sheets, asleep and all sorts of dead to the world. But ever the paranoid sneaky thing she was, Diane decided to take another look _just to make sure _and looked at the bed once more only to suddenly hiss out a curse and drop what little she had of her belongings on the floor with a light thump.

"Shit," she placed a hand on her chest, her heart going on overdrive and suddenly robbed of breath.

He was looking right at her, head over the pillow she had placed underneath his grasp and eyes wide and unnervingly awake, "Hi."

Diane tucked an errant lock of hair behind her ear and smiled guiltily, crossing her arms over her chest and shifted on one foot to another. She tilted her head sideways, looking away in an effort to hide her embarrassment despite the darkness, "Hi...you're awake."

"Yeah, I was wonderin' when you were going to notice," Kurt said gruffly as he rolled over lazily and sat up, pushing himself up against the headboard and placed the pillow he'd been clutching at over his lap.

"I was so sure I didn't make a sound," she mumbled, looking at him from under her lashes.

"You didn't," he nodded, "And you were very good, very stealthy. Like some kinda Catwoman."

She let out a small chuckle, "Yes, well…how-why are you awake?"

"I think I got cold," he shrugged, "Or I'm just...I dunno, something."

He ran a hand over his neck, moving his head from one side to the other then flexed his shoulders. She watched him, watched how he moved as his body woke up with the rest of him and bit the inside of her cheek. She blushed, thankful for the dark, as she remembered the taste of his skin. She wondered then where his shirt was and failed to remember, her cheeks burning once more with the realization.

"Is it me, or were you sneaking out?" he finally asked, looking at her with his hair sticking up everywhere. Her fingertips tingled with the memory of running her fingers through them only hours prior.

"Yes, I was," she nodded, knowing there was no used to lying when she'd obviously been caught.

"Really?" he drawled out, "Why?"

"I…" she stopped, pursing her lips, "I don't know."

"You're still going to see me at work on Monday, remember?" he arched an eyebrow, "I'm working the Cartwright case."

"Oh, yes, of course," she nodded, placing a hand on her face, "I'm sorry…I forgot."

"I'm going to pretend I believe that," he smirked, "Now, you wanna tell me where you're going?"

"Home?" she said, though it sounded more like a question.

"Oh, home? Well, alright," he nodded, "But I was thinking we could stay in tomorrow, you know? Order some room service, get lazy…watch TV or something—whatever it is you do on weekends."

"Well, I don't watch TV," she mumbled.

"Okay, no TV then," he shrugged, "Shop?"

"Sometimes," she smiled then bit the inside of her cheek again, "I _was_ sneaking out…I'm sorry."

"I'd be mad at you, but…" he reached for his phone and lit it up, raising his eyebrows before looking at her, his face glowing almost eerily against the screen, "It's four in the morning. I don't think angry me exists at four in the morning."

"Isn't that good news?"

"For you? Yep," he nodded and then reached sideways, slipping his hand underneath the pillow he had abandoned sometime during the night and pulled out something black, "Looking for this?"

Her panties dangled from his fingers.

Lips slightly parted, she sat down on the bed, crossing her legs demurely and looked at him. Her chin jutted up slightly, glancing at the dangling black lace before looking at him.

"And my—"

He pulled out something else and out came the matching brassier and he held it up as well, beaming idiotically like a proud little boy who just got a gold star.

She raised an eyebrow, "I don't suppose you have my shoe underneath there somewhere?"

"Nah," he shook his head, "Too bulky…wouldn't have been able to sleep."

"Oh, of course," she nodded, feigning enlightenment.

"It's in the bathroom."

"The bathroom?" her eyes widened then she smiled, shaking her head at him, "Of course you put it there."

He nodded, "Yeah, outside the room would have been just mean."

"Yes, it would," she nodded, "Especially if it got lost. I would have made you pay."

"And I would have done just that," he replied, "I wouldn't dare come between a lady and her shoes."

She chuckled, "Of course."

He leaned back, draping the undergarments on the pilot on his lap and tilted his head sideways, watching her, "Where're you going, Diane?"

"I told you—"

"You know this isn't a one-night stand, right?"

"Of course not," she almost looked offended by the term.

"Really? Because I don't know about you, but from where I come from," he raised an eyebrow, "People who are about to get married don't usually sneak out of the person they're engaged to after spending the night together."

"I know, I know," she shook her head, pressing a hand against her face once more, "I was…just being an idiot."

"You have nothing calling you back to work tomorrow," he pointed out, "Can we just sleep in, please? Spend time together? I mean, you _did _ask me to marry you—"

"Excuse me, didn't you technically ask me first?"

"Well, yeah, but this time, you did the asking and I did the saying yes and this time," he grinned, "We're really getting married. So, _you _asked _me_."

"I could always un-ask you, you know…"

"You could," he nodded, "but you already set the date. And did that whole—er, what was that? No more waiting thing? Something like that."

She smirked, "Lovely. That's how you remember it?"

"Well, there were some impressive begging going on there—" he laughed when he felt her fist smack against his thigh over the sheet, "Okay, I'm just teasing. Is this what the future has in store for me? Abuse? Battered husband? Stockholm?"

"Yes," she replied tartly, "Got a problem with that?"

"Why, no, dear," he, surprisingly, could do the emasculated husband shtick impressively well.

She laughed lightly, "Some guy I'm marrying…I'm rethinking my proposal. I think you just accused mine of being lackluster and forgettable."

"Well, _now_ you're just putting words in my mouth," he chuckled, "But hey, I'm just the guy who did his own proposal a lot differently—Costa Rica, the sun, the beach, some cool drinks…hot nights."

She rolled her eyes even though there was a chance he couldn't see them, "Well, I'm sorry, it was my first time. Maybe I'll do better the second time around—with my second husband."

"To get to the second, you gotta marry the first, sweetheart."

"Or I could just drop you and propose to someone else again."

"Now you're just being mean."

"You made fun of my asking to marry you!" she almost reached down for her shoe to toss it at him but decided against it—not entirely a very mature move. And she already punched him, she didn't really want him to think abuse was in the cards for him. Well, at least not that kind.

He chuckled, "Can I tell you something?"

"What?"

"I did like it, you know," he said in a low voice, "How you proposed."

"You did? Are you sure you wouldn't feel forever deprived because there were no flowers, no singing birds? No pretty ribbons?"

"I can live without those," he replied, more serious than she was being at that moment, "No, I liked how you proposed because…you wanted _me_. You actually _chose_ me and, well, that's gotta be damn more perfect than any pooping birds or smelly flowers."

Diane looked at him, smiling as she turned and climbed back onto the bed and moved until she was face to face with him, between his legs and placed her hands flat on either side of his head, "That's the sweetest thing you've ever said to me tonight."

"If you give me a chance, I can be sweeter," he smiled, tilting his head upwards to kiss her gently.

She smiled against his lips, "I think can be persuaded."

"Yes, but that won't matter," he reached up with both hands, pressing one on the side of her face while the other pressed against the back of her neck. "Because right now, I'm asking my fiancée to stay and _'no' _isn't going to be an option."

He pulled her down for a firm kiss and her palms slipped from the headboard, one hand grabbing onto his bare shoulder while the other grabbed the pillow on his lap and tossed it aside. She moved closer, not breaking the kiss and pulled him to her, moving her knees until she was straddling him on the bed.

"I think you lost your underwear again, Miss Lockhart."

She smirked, pressing an openmouthed kiss on his neck and whispered on his ear, "Disappointed?"

"God, no."

"Then I don't think I care."

His hands travelled up to her skirt, unhooking them and pulled down the zipper, "Yeah? Well, that's good. I wasn't gonna give them back anyway."

"Thief."

"Better than being called a delinquent."

Diane laughed only to cut it short as his mouth slid down her neck. His hands undid the bow on her blouse, pushing the two scraps of silk aside as his fingers began to deftly unbutton until he could slip off the garment from her shoulders completely. She breathed in as his teeth grazed the skin on her shoulders, nipping lightly as he lifted her skirt up higher on her waist.

"When we get married," he paused as he pulled the skirt over her head, leaving her hair quite disheveled and wild. "I can take them whenever I want. Community property."

She laughed, patting his cheek once before kissing him below the ear, "Sorry, darling, this is Chicago…definitely _not_ a community property state."

"Oh, well then," he ran his hands up her bare back, fingers dancing as if playing ivory keys of a piano. He smiled as he felt her shiver under his touch, "I guess I'll just have to keep hiding them, won't I?"

Diane laughed once more but it was drowned out by another kiss. Blindly, she reached down, pulling the sheets aside and left them to fall off the bed, right next to where she had dropped the pillow that had been cradling her underthings. His hands reached for her waist, anchoring her to him, their breaths mingling, their hearts beating wildly as the temperature seemed to suddenly rise.

All thoughts of leaving flew out the window then as they reengaged themselves in the night's earlier activities, hands reaching, lips teasing and bodies touching. And not once did Diane Lockhart ever try to sneak out of the hotel room that night or the following morning and Kurt McVeigh got his room service—for breakfast, lunch _and _dinner.

Not only that, but the future husband and wife also found something they could definitely do together on the weekends that didn't involve shopping or watching the television at all.

And it was a hell of a lot better than those two combined.


End file.
